Readjustment
by R. Clowe
Summary: Major Evan Lorne has been missing for ten months. Upon his unexpected return, John Sheppard realizes that this is not the Major Lorne they all remember. This is not the man *he* remembers.
1. Prologue

The highest balcony on the central spire of Atlantis had one lone resident at four in the morning, Pegasus galaxy time. His silhouette against the break of dawn made for a majestic image, one he was sure Evan Lorne would have liked to have captured on canvas. Neon red met autumn orange in a glorious dance as they waltzed across the sky. The sun began to rise.

Hitting 'Enter,' sending his latest e-mail, John Sheppard closed his laptop and stood up, stretching his legs in the process. Taking a few steps forward, he leaned against the railing and took in the view of the city. It never failed to take his breath away.

His brow creased in thought, imagining the day he lost contact with his second-in-command. The SGC had replaced him with Major Jacobson who, while dutiful and always obedient, had the unfortunate want of approval at all times. John wasn't quite sure how to handle the man, even though they were nearing the one year mark. Jacobson was exactly what John had predicted Lorne to be like the first time he met the man: needy, always at his beck and call, by the book, straight-faced, and devoid of humor. But after their first conversation John knew Lorne was going to be anything but.

He could not say the same for Major Matthew Jacobson.

It had been more than ten months since Major Evan Lorne had last stepped through the Stargate. His team was under heavy fire off-world and Lorne sacrificed himself to save the others. McKay had been with them, intent on discovering the source of some fluctuating energy readings during their routine trade agreement. The physicist refused to talk about that day after his initial debriefing. Not with John, not with Teyla, not with anyone. Self-sacrifice was not particularly viewed in high-esteem by Rodney McKay, but you couldn't even say Lorne's name within earshot of the man without this glint of utter heroism in his eyes.

John knew McKay idolized Lorne from that moment. Rodney wouldn't elaborate on the specifics of what happened on that planet, but not one team member had returned unscathed. Rodney actually fared the best of the lot with three deep stab wounds on his right bicep and several lacerations covering his back and chest. If that was how bad off Rodney was, John didn't want to imagine how badly tortured Lorne had been.

_Evan_, he chided himself. _Show some respect._

They returned to the planet in jumpers less than an hour later. John himself led the charge and with an armada of four jumpers they prepared to fly through the Stargate to seek out the lost Major. The only problem was, the Stargate wouldn't open a wormhole.

"_Why isn't it locking?" John shouted, his voice directed towards the technician. _

"_I'm sorry sir, it can't find the other 'Gate," the woman said—Sara, he thought her name was—as she tried dialing again. And again._

"_Radek. Explain," he ordered, gritting his teeth as he glared at the Czech._

"_You know same as me!" Radek explained, his broken English starting to come through as desperation filled him. "The Stargate is not locking. The 'Gate on the other end must be…" he fished for a suitable word, "…impeded." _

"_Perhaps," the tech possibly known as Sara said, "They are dialing another planet?" _

_This only made him angrier. The marines closest to him backed up several steps, aware of the absolute anger radiating from his body. "Keep dialing," he growled at the tech. "Everyone be prepared to go through the Stargate the minute it locks." _

_No one made a sound for the next thirty-two minutes._

After nearly thirty-eight minutes once they began dialing the planet, they succeeded. John remembered vividly the relief on everyone's faces, but all he thought at the moment was how Evan Lorne was probably no longer there. Either dead or captured and gated to another planet.

They found no body on the planet. John had searched for months, Woolsey giving him substantial leeway, aware of how the bond between the two men had grown. Every lead led nowhere. No one knew anything about where the Major, or the people who took him, had gone.

Three months later, they called off the search.

John never allowed himself to think about losing one of the few people he allowed himself to grow close to. They were never close friends in the way he and McKay were, but they had complete trust in the other's abilities and could always depend upon the other to pick up any slack.

This balcony was his reprieve. Here he would think about all the things that went wrong. The missions, the deaths, the decisions, everything. He laid it all out in front of him and ran it over in his head until he could no longer think clearly. Teyla had caught him alone up here on more than one occasion, but he brushed off all of her inquiries. She knew this was that one place he went to be alone, just like every member of the expedition had. She left him alone each and every time.

More than ten months later and he was still trying to adjust. Lorne's void was so large that nearly every person on Atlantis was affected. Jacobson had taken over SGA-2 as team leader, a decision Cadman was none too happy about, but John didn't have the strength in him to fight with her about it. It was easier than creating another team and helped Jacobson from having to lead a whole new one—which, in turn, also made scheduling easier.

Doc Keller had taken things particularly hard. She and Lorne had grown close, he knew through the grapevine, even teased Lorne about it sometimes, when suddenly he never came back. She was distraught, the poor woman, and Cadman had to step in to comfort her.

Due to McKay's taboo about the subject, John's own team never really addressed the issue. Sometimes he, Teyla and Ronon would make passing comments during sparring matches—it really did help to get his blood flowing—but never anything more than that. Sometimes it hurt to think about just how much work Lorne did for him, but John never fully realized it until the man was gone.

The marines, too, were downright despondent to see him go. John wasn't one to interact with the men daily, mostly due to his more bureaucratic role in the scope of things, but Lorne taught classes in self-defense on Tuesday mornings. He would spar with some of the men if he happened to be in the gym and they happened to need a partner. He would sit with them if they were alone at the mess hall, keeping up with his odd quirk of constant social interaction.

This, too, John did not realize until Evan was gone.

He often wondered what the man was up to now. Was he living as a slave? Was he wounded and calling out for help? Human test subject? Dead? None of his hypothetical situations for the Major were positive ones and he almost preferred the last one to the rest, simply because if the Major were dead, he would be at peace. But that also meant he couldn't be rescued.

He also envisioned what he could have done differently at the time of the Major's disappearance, but really, there was nothing that could have been done. No one had anticipated the attack on the planet. It was a friendly one, visited every forty-six days to trade for crops and other supplies. The unusual interval was due to the native's own calendar. And it had been on that particular forty-sixth day that a race they had not met ambushed Lorne's team and McKay.

John shook his head, trying to shake away the memories of his ineptitude, of his inability to rescue his XO. _Former XO_, he chastised, remembering Jacobson.

A sudden beep from his watch alerted him that the morning shift was relieving the graveyard shift and that he was needed in the Gate Room. Woolsey had the day off after a three week stint and the man was looking forward to some much needed rest. John didn't blame him. He knew what running on fumes felt like.

Grabbing his laptop, he headed for the stairwell. Another advantage to having this balcony was that the Gate Room was only a few floors down. It took him no more than three minutes walking at a casual pace.

John questioned Chuck as to how things were going that morning as he relieved Sharon—not Sara—at the dialing console. "The usual," Chuck replied.

_The usual_. The Stargate was down for repairs after a live grenade, or what would pass for a grenade from a rogue Genii sect, had made its way through following Lieutenant Harrington's team. McKay nearly chewed out the poor Lieutenant when he realized the work ahead of him. It was pure luck that all the other teams were already on Atlantis due to the annually scheduled November holidays. Harrington's team was the only one off-world at the time.

It had taken four days to ensure that everything was up to working standards. They were making the Stargate operational this morning and John was here to oversee that.

"Turn 'er on, Chuck. Let's get this show on the road."

The Stargate powered up momentarily afterwards and Lieutenant Jeffries' team was on its way not thirty minutes later. They were overdue to trade off-world with three different civilizations and would need to hurry to make contact and apologize in the event that their late check-in compromised any negotiations or contracts.

And that made what happened that afternoon all the more worrisome.

It was nearly two in the afternoon when the Stargate sprang to life. Jeffries' team was due for check-in right about now. John was signing several requisition forms in Woolsey's office when he heard the tell-tale sounds of the 'Gate spinning and locking each dialed symbol.

He walked out along the catwalk to peer down at the expected SGA team. "IDC?" John asked.

"It's Jeffries," Chuck confirmed, typing away at something. "Lowering the shield."

A few button presses later and, sure enough, in walked Jeffries' team. "Lieutenant!" John called down, "I hope our tardiness didn't warrant a late slip!"

"No sir," Jeffries' called up, smiling. "We got a wagonful!" His smile was contagious and, as promised, a wagon full of grain and other goodies was pushed through the Stargate following the team before shutting down.

"Are those not-strawberries?" John queried from above, squinting at the tiny scarlet dots.

Jefferies grinned. "Indeed, sir."

"Excellent! Head on down to the infirmary for your check-up. Keller's waiting."

"Yes, sir!" Jefferies' saluted—highly unnecessary, John thought—and escorted his team to the infirmary.

"So, Chuck, two more check-ins and we're done for the day."

"Yes, sir. Can't wait for the movie tonight," the young man said, nodding his head enthusiastically while reading some information on his computer.

"Who's next?" John asked.

"Harrington, sir. They should be back in about an hour."

"Alright, I have some papers to sign. I'll be back in about—"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence as the Stargate started to rotate a second time. Chevron after chevron clicked into place and John had that sinking feeling that something wasn't right here.

He tapped his earpiece. "Security team to the Gate Room, we have an unscheduled off-world activation." It took no more than thirty seconds for the room to fill up with marines. Klaxons went off overhead, as if trying to warn them of the danger.

"IDC?" John asked again, looking towards Chuck.

A few taps of the keyboard. "Lieutenant Harrington, sir." Chuck paused, as if feeling the same uneasiness. He looked to John for confirmation.

John nodded. "Lower the shield, Chuck." Chuck repeated the order aloud so the marines could hear and be ready for gunfire. The shield dissipated and for a few tense seconds nothing happened.

Then, a lone figure stepped through the Stargate and John Sheppard sucked in a breath. Time seemed to stand still as someone who resembled Major Evan Lorne stood alone in the center of the room. The Stargate shut down.

The man stared back at each of them in turn, taking stock of who had weapons and who did not. His eyes lingered on Sheppard for an instant before turning to the accompanying medical team arriving from the east door, right hand hovering over a holster attached to his right thigh.

No one moved.

John traversed the steps and took up residence behind Samuels and Davis.

"Major?" John asked. He didn't trust his voice to say the man's name without cracking.

The eyes turned back towards him, the right one so crimson it was practically glowing. A vertical scar rose two inches above and below said eye. His eyes betrayed nothing as he stared back at John, utterly devoid of recognition. _Does he even know who I am?_

It wasn't just the eye that shocked him. His hulking frame reminded John of a bodybuilder on steroids. Lorne was always sturdily built, but this was pushing the boundaries of human muscle. The shirt he wore was sleeveless and a strange, sinewy, silver streak ran from each index finger all the way up his arm, branching off at various points like veins. He had a five o'clock shadow and his hair was close-cropped and spiky and so unlike Lorne that John nearly did a double take.

This was not the Lorne that John Sheppard remembered.


	2. Chapter 1

"Identify yourself," Colonel John Sheppard ordered. If this truly was Major Evan Lorne, he would respond appropriately, barring any kind of brain damage or amnesia. Keller would be the judge of any discrepancies in the man's mental state, along with the new shrink.

John noted that the man was studiously scanning the room whenever he shifted his eyes, mapping each detail down to possible escape routes and places for cover. He'd seen this look on Lorne's face before whenever a situation needed serious calculation and it was for that reason that John knew this man would not go down without a fight.

"You know who I am," the man responded, surprising everyone momentarily. John quickly recovered, pursing his lips and steeling his gaze. The marines around him knelt lower and pressed a fraction tighter on their triggers, waiting for the order to shoot. Through his peripheral vision John realized that Ronon had shown up at some point, his weapon aimed at Lorne as well.

"Do I?" John challenged, tilting his head slightly. "Place your hands on your head and kneel on the floor. If you really are Major Lorne," he growled, "You'll comply and we'll sort this out peacefully, won't we?"

Lorne tilted his head in kind, staring back at him. His eyes flickered rapidly, but John couldn't detect a reason for him to be blinking so fast. There were no bright lights shining on him, nothing to harm his vision. _The hell is he doing?_ Lorne's neck cracked as he grimaced in pain, the sound audible amidst the quiet that had overtaken the Gate Room.

"There's not much time," he said, his eyes searching the room again. "Where is McKay?"

John's nostrils flared. This was _not_ the time for an intruder to be asking questions. This standoff had to end soon before it escalated any further. "McKay," he started, "Is where he's supposed to be. You, on the other hand, are not." He embellished his words, stabbing his right index finger towards Lorne. "I won't ask again, Major. Hands on your head. On your knees."

The hulking frame snapped to attention, his gaze once again locking with John's. This time, however, there was a challenge inside them. Testing him, worming its way in. Lorne's right eye, the dark red one, blazed with determination. He was going to run. _But where?_ _Where could he run when there was nowhere to run _to_?_ And what exactly had happened to his former second-in-command? Disobeying orders? This new physique? The obvious physical impairments bestowed upon him? _What the fuck did they do to him?_

It was too late when John finally realized the staring contest was merely a distraction. Lorne spoke loudly, "Johnson, Sanchez." He was using his Major voice, the one reserved for soldiers when he was delegating tasks. They were two men Lorne had worked with previously on Atlantis and he obviously remembered them well enough to call them by name. They both released the trigger on their weapons, but only slowly, their eyes widening after realizing that, yes, this man did know them. The other eight marines and Ronon took notice and immediately tensed.

That subtle announcement was another distraction. John finally noticed that while Lorne's right hand cradled the air above his holster, his left hand had snaked slowly around to his back. "Ronon," John called, nodding in the runner's direction.

As Ronon set his weapon to stun, it allowed Lorne enough time to grab whatever was on his backside. He drew forth a gun that John had never seen before, metallic, shaped like a pistol, but with stark blue stripes running in circles around its entirety. He would have marveled at its beauty had Lorne not fired off three shots in less than a second. Three marines were down before Ronon could even fire off a single burst of energy and when he did, Lorne spent his forth shot aimed right back at him. A blast of crimson and indigo met halfway between the two and fizzled into nothingness. Lorne shot again, two bursts to Ronon's one, and while two blasts met once again in the air, Lorne's extra shot smacked Ronon in the chest, sending him flying off his feet.

The other marines reacted quickly, engaging Lorne with automatic weapons. In the first volley of fire with Ronon, Lorne had retrieved his other firearm from its holster. With the two weapons in hand, John watched amazed as bullets and blue energy blasts from Lorne clanged with startling accuracy against every bullet that would have tore through him. They ricocheted elsewhere or, in the case of the energy blasts, sometimes found their mark and dropped another marine to the floor.

"I need reinforcements in the Gate Room!" John called into his earpiece and suddenly he could hear nonstop chatter coming from the other end: Keller asking if medical attention was needed, Jacobson confirming he was on his way, Woolsey asking to be apprised of the situation. It all blended together to form a raucous chorus of pain in his ear. _He's escaping_, John informed himself, drawing his own weapon as Lorne headed for the nearest exit, but not before grabbing hold of a young medic and pointing a gun to her head.

Lorne's eyes met John's again. "I'm sorry," he mouthed, and disappeared around the corner with the young woman in his arms.

John stopped, but immediately recognized the pounding of boots along the floor to his right. "Jacobson!" he yelled, aware the young Major was there without even needing to see him. "It's Major Lorne!" Several of the men on the floor began to come to as John deduced that the blue energy blasts had only stunned them, similar to the properties of Ronon's weapon. "He's loose in the city, armed, and he has a hostage!"

It took Jacobson only seconds to read the situation in the Gate Room: six bodies down, three covering the eastern exit and a middle-aged medic without a partner that should have been accompanying him. "I'm on it, sir!" He ordered his men into position to begin a sweep of the central spire.

"Chuck," John called to the young man, his head peering over the balcony above. "Track the life signs immediately. I need to know—"

"Already on it, sir. Major Lorne is headed for transporter delta on the fourteenth floor."

"Can you shut them down?" John asked.

"I'm coordinating with Dr. Stewart, sir. They'll deactivate in about fifteen seconds due to the safeguards, but he might make it to delta before that happens. We'll know of any immediate transporter travel if he makes it inside. We'll know where he steps out."

John nodded. "Good work. Keep me informed." He switched channels on his comm. unit. "McKay, where are you?"

"Sheppard! What is this I'm hearing about Major Lorne? He's in the city?" And John could hear the hope in the man's voice and suddenly wished he had good news to give him.

"Yeah, he's in the city, but McKay," he barreled on before the physicist could interrupt him, "He's not the same Lorne. He stunned several marines and Ronon, fled the Gate Room and took a medic hostage. He's loose in the city."

"Wait, what?" McKay replied.

"Look," John cut in, "He was asking where you were and I was hoping you could help. I don't know if he remembers what happened to you, but he wanted to see you. He's not using lethal force, so I don't think his intentions are to harm us or the city. Do you think you'd be up to talking to him?"

It was worth a shot, after all. Lorne seemed to remember McKay and if they could use that to their advantage, perhaps the physicist could distract him long enough so they could subdue him.

"Umm…sure," McKay said after a slight hesitation. "Where, uh…where do you want me?"

"We're not sure yet, McKay. First we have to corner him. I'll keep you updated," John turned back to Chuck. "Where is he?"

"Dr. Stewart is updating me now," the technician said, tapping his own earpiece. A pause. And then, "He's in sector three, sir, just stepped out of sierra."

"Any military in the area?" John spied Ronon slowly standing up and working the kinks out of his back.

"I can't tell by the life signs, sir, but there's less than twenty people in the area. It's mostly scientists due to—"

John waved him off, "Yeah, yeah, botany labs and the gardens." He studied the images on the console in front of him as Chuck remapped Atlantis in real-time, alternating the topography of the city from two-dimensional for life signs to three-dimensional for physical geography. "Where the hell is he headed…"

"Where is he?" Ronon echoed, striding over, gun in hand.

"Northeastern sector. We're not quite sure of his intentions yet." John gave him the once over, "You alright, big guy?"

A grunt. "Fine."

John eyed him for several more seconds before nodding in satisfaction. He returned his attention to the technician. "Chuck, update Jacobson on Lorne's location. Notify me when you're done, I need to make a city wide announcement."

* * *

He could barely maintain his concentration for even a moment. Images flashed before his eyes as he ran, each step more trying than the last.

_***Transporter whiskey surrounded. Seven men.***_

_***Northwest stairs in the spire. Four men, guns drawn.***_

_***Transporter tango. Lieutenant Duran.*** _He'd never even met her. _How did he know her name?_

_***Jumper bay. SGA-4 prepping for a mission.***_

_***Transporter sierra. Botany. Doctor Parrish. Doctor Mulroney. Opposition minimal.***_

"Let me go!" the medic screamed, his arm grasped tightly around her chest. He didn't intend to harm her. He merely needed her as leverage to get around the city without getting shot at. She kept attempting to twist his arm—

_***Martial arts class. Wednesday morning, 7:43 a.m. First class Sergeant Jennifer Halliday.***_

—But his grip was too strong and his arms too large for her to exert much pressure for her attempt to be anything more than a nuisance.

"Stop that," he chided as he made his way to transporter delta. The standoff in the Gate Room had taken way too long and he had to find McKay before things got even worse. His intention was not to start a manhunt in the city, but after Sheppard called reinforcements he knew it couldn't go down any other way.

_***Halliday's comm. unit on his own ear.***_

The headache he was suffering from didn't help matters as it kept on pounding, a dozen drums beating out of sync over and over again. If he had any sanity left after this effort he doubted it would last long enough to let him do anything worthwhile. Sergeant Halliday began trying to pull out what was left of his hair and it only added more fuel to the fire, a new bout of fresh pain thrashing through his skull.

"Would you stop that!" he snarled at her, pushing her against the nearest wall as he reached the transporter. He ripped the earpiece out of her ear and before she could retort he hit the onscreen symbol for transporter sierra and immediately the doors closed and reopened to a new section of the city.

The indigo stunner in his left hand was nearly out of juice and he really wasn't in the mood to have to fight his way through the city using hand-to-hand combat, especially since the expedition had Wraith stunners. His headache never dulled and the images started flashing again.

_***Doctor McKay in lab 6C13, southwest Sector. Transporter sierra to tango to kilo.***_

_***Doctor Parrish in lab 3B4. Tending to new found plant species found on mission four days prior.***_

_***Colonel Sheppard speaking to Chuck. Gate Room. Tracking his movements with city-wide life-sign detector.***_

His thoughts were getting away from him.

Lorne quickly plugged the earpiece into his ear and immediately regretted the decision as a cacophony of questions and orders and sharp commands tore at him. He stumbled and grasped the wall for balance, the sudden noise causing him to lose his concentration. His head was already killing him and—shit, he'd never gone this long before without using. Without an injection he'd continue to be a bumbling mess.

Reaching into his pant's pocket he withdrew a small syringe and a tiny vial of neon violet liquid. His eyes nearly rolled up into his head as he leaned against the wall, his breath heaving as more shouts bit through the air.

"He's stopped moving!" he heard through the comm. as his vision started to blur around the edges—he couldn't focus, there was too much—"…the hell did he know Harrington's IDC?"—too much noise, too much everything.

Sticking the tip of the syringe into the vial with shaking hands he slowly drained the liquid. He slumped to the floor and immediately pulled a sliver of rope from the opposite pocket. Tying it as fast as possible around his right arm, Lorne steadied his hand as best as he could and eased the needle into a protruding vein. The sting was immediate and painful, but it allowed him to focus as he injected the drug into his system. The effects were fast.

His headache dulled, but only slightly. The flashes began to pick up with more frequency and purpose.

_***Doctor Parrish down the hall. Lab 3B4. Isolated garden for alien species of the Pegasus galaxy. Tame plants.***_

His subconscious was sure of his destination as Parrish was referenced each cycle. Striding with a newfound resilience, he ran down the hall towards the meek, but ever dependable scientist.

The doors _swoosh_ed open and Lorne was met with the sight of an utterly magnificent spectacle. He remembered this room, but was in it for less than an hour during his stay with the expedition. Before he was captured this lab was in the transition phase to Atlantis' third greenhouse due to the overabundance of new species of plant life the teams kept discovering. Flora lined any visible tables and, in some cases, vines encroached nearby walls and climbed almost to the top of the transparent, domed ceiling.

He did not have time to sightsee.

Rushing forward, he neglected his footing and strode purposefully over errant twigs, vines, and flowers that managed to infringe upon the outskirts of pots along the floor. _Snap_s and _crunch_es followed his path and he soon found himself parked in front of Parrish.

"Hey!" the botanist's voice called, his back turned, too busy fiddling with what looked to be a new form of cacti. "Watch where you're stepping! If you don't know what the word horticulture means then get _out _of the lab!"

Lorne tilted his head and inspected the man before him. He looked more or less the same since their last mission—_he's lost weight_, he noted—but the botanist's sense of duty to foreign plant life certainly never wavered. "Parrish," he started, "I need your help."

It was that moment Lorne realized his voice must have changed after however long he was gone because Parrish didn't appear at all phased. "Look, if you need my help," he began to turn around, "Then you can wait until—holy shit." Hazel eyes met cerulean and Parrish quickly began to ramble, "Evan? What the…what the hell happened to you?" He watched silently as his former teammate reached out to touch the silver tendrils running up his arm. Parrish's hand hovered momentarily before he retracted it, opting to take a step back.

The intercom suddenly sparked to life throughout the entire room. "Attention all personnel, this is Colonel John Sheppard." _Oh shit._ "There has been a security breach in the city. Major Evan Lorne," he paused, "Or a man that looks strikingly similar to him has entered Atlantis and is on the loose. We have quarantined him to the northeastern section of the city. If you see him, do not approach! He is armed and dangerous. Alert the control room of any suspicious activity and, if you are currently in the quarantine zone, please notify us immediately. We will keep you updated. Thank you."

Parrish's eyes grew wider as Sheppard's message droned on. "What are you doing here?" he asked accusingly.

"I—"

_***A team of six marines. Armed. P-90s.***_

_***Parrish's watch showing the time.***_

Lorne cut himself off. "What time do you have?" he said, grasping hold of Parrish's hand with a little less regard for the man's wrist than he would normally give. Parrish let out a small squeak as Lorne's arms were stronger than ever before. "We have less than three minutes. I need you to take me to Doctor Mulroney. Now!" he ordered, trying to picture the man's face in his head.

"Doctor Mulroney? Why?"

"Parrish, do as I say," Lorne warned, motioning towards the energy weapon in his left hand. "Where is he?"

The botanist backed away slowly, his eyes widening. "What the hell did they do to you, Evan? Your eye, its…your whole body is different. I don't—"

"Parrish!" he thundered, "If you don't tell me where he is now I _will_ shoot you."

_***A flash of pale green, fuchsia, and yellow. Flowers of many colors. A large, red plant with a gaping mouth.*** _For some reason he couldn't pick up the rogue scientist in the flashes. _Why can't I find him?_

"I know he's nearby," Lorne said, grabbing hold of Parrish again. "Move." He dragged the man forward, mindful of the time he had remaining. "Sheppard's men are going to be here any second and they're going to kill me, Parrish. So tell me, where the _fuck_ is Mulroney?"

"H-He…he's in the next l-lab over. Over there," Parrish pointed to a door almost completely hidden by overgrowth. "He was only sent here six months ago, Evan. He's just doing cultivation!"

"I don't care," he growled back, releasing his grip on Parrish's arm and proceeding through the obscured doorway.

_Crunch. Snap._

"Stop it!" Parrish cried. "The plants!"

Lorne didn't look back.

He could hear the distinct steps of Parrish's footprints behind him, the man muttering curses in his general direction. "The real Evan Lorne wouldn't have done that," he heard, the comment drawing a slight sting. He was being accused of everything under the sun, he was sure of that, but there hadn't been any time to explain. His actions, his appearance…

_I'm real…aren't I?_ _I'm Evan Lorne?_

The uncertainty frightened him. Ever since he awoke he was unsure whether his actions were choices he was deliberately making or a pre-existing conditioning choosing for him. He had gated through to Atlantis and disobeyed every order given to him so far, for Christ's sake. Were his thoughts artificial? Come to think of it, was his body artificial too?

He glanced down at his arms, a patchwork of flesh and an unknown substance he could not identify. _What the fuck am I made of?_ he thought, not for the first time.

_***"Major Lorne, put your hands above your head where we can see them. Do not turn around. Remain where—"***_

_***"It's similar to the Rafflesia genus, one of which is the largest flower on Earth and—hey, stop stepping on the plants! I've already told you—"***_

_***"—drop your weapon immediately. If you do not comply we will be forced to use deadly force."***_

"Evan, I'm…I didn't mean…Are you okay?"

He was standing around too long. The flashes were wearing off again and he wasn't concentrating. Parrish was too distracting and the nostalgia of his old team, bits and pieces of missions that he could remember, was definitely not helping matters.

"Fine," he said gruffly and advanced through a throng of gargantuan plants that towered over him. A honk from a nearby golden tulip startled him and he swore. He was losing his focus fast. _The drug. My body's growing accustomed to its effects. It's not lasting as long as it used to…_

Parrish grasped the back of his shirt. "Stop!" he yelled, trying to wrench Lorne backwards, but utterly failing to move him even an inch. "You nearly walked into one of the most carnivorous plants we've ever discovered in Pegasus!" Lorne fired him a questioning look while simultaneously keeping tabs on the door behind them. "It's similar to the Rafflesia genus, one of which is the largest flower on Earth and—hey, stop stepping on the plants! I've already told you once!"

And he hadn't even realized he was doing it, but sure enough the remains of some small would-be orchid lay at his feet. Parrish pointed ahead and there, amidst an absolute wall of growth was a large, robust, fiery red flower with black spots coating its frame. _I've seen this image before_,he realized, before it flashed in his mind a second time.

"You said this was carnivorous?" Lorne asked.

"Yes, a very fearsome, predatory individual. We only have one species as its indigenous to one particular forest on one particular planet—"

"It's a sentry, then," Lorne said matter-of-factly.

"A...a sentry? Like a guard? I don't understand."

"For Mulroney, Parrish. Can this plant eat humans?"

Parrish blanched. "Well it…um, it sort of feasted upon Dr. Holsin's arm a few months ago. The poor guy, they had to amputate and send him back home. We almost lost the specimen, too. Woolsey had a field day. Nearly ordered a clean up of the entire garden."

"So it can feast on humans. And it would've attacked me?"

"If you had stepped within proximity of its mouth, yes. Incidentally, it appears to have parked itself right in the middle of this pathway…"

Lorne raised an eyebrow. "You think that's coincidental? Believe me, it's not."

Parrish gave him a shy smile. "I…I missed this, you know? Missed having the 'boss' around." Lorne stood awkwardly, his body tense, his eyes searching. "You've been gone a long time…How did you—"

"Stop," Lorne said, raising his hand. "Just…stop."

_***"He's cornered, sir. We have the lab surrounded. Permission to enter and—"***_

_***"-three life signs inside, Major. Wait for Dr. McKay and myself. We'll be—"***_

"Damn it!" He smashed the golden tulip and its incessant honking noise with a well-placed fist. "There's no _time_, Parrish. I have to move." He aimed his weapon at the mammoth-sized flower and fired, blue energy coating its form before abruptly vanishing. Parrish's cries went unnoticed as Lorne fired again. The flower withered and slumped to the right.

He took off at a run and vaulted over more wayward plants that obstructed the path. After what he deemed to be an acceptable distance he slowed his pace and strained his ears, flicking the earpiece to the ground.

Wiping at his nose, his arm came back stained with blood. _A nose bleed. Not good._ The drug's side effects were mostly limited to constant headaches, sometimes migraines. He hadn't gone as far as a nose bleed before.

As he shook his head and inhaled through his nose, the clicking of a laptop drew his attention and he spied his target hunkered down under the low overhang of a foreign tree. Had he not stopped he would have missed the sound and the doctor altogether.

Lorne trained his gun, the one loaded with actual bullets, upon the man. "Doctor Mulroney," he said in greeting, "Get over here." Apprehensively, Mulroney stood, his hand still skittering across the keys on his laptop. "Stop typing or I shoot you in the head."

The doctor's stare conveyed no worry, but he did comply and ceased typing commands. "You must be the man Colonel Sheppard was talking about. Here to take me hostage?" he said nonchalantly, a wry grin creeping across his face. Lorne's face darkened.

"Something like that." He motioned with his gun for the doctor to step closer. "Drop the laptop." He did as he was told.

"Evan!" he heard, Parrish's call reaching him from down the pathway where he had left the man. It was mere seconds later that a fair-sized contingent of armed marines stormed the area, their guns all trained upon him. He had just enough time to grab Mulroney and point the gun at the doctor's head before he was locked in yet another standoff.

"Major Evan Lorne," the point man started, stepping forward, "My name is Major Matthew Jacobson. Colonel Sheppard has told me good things about you." He lowered his weapon slightly, as if the action constituted a peace offering. This man was not his friend. "Please, just let the scientist go and we can talk about this."

Lorne huffed. "I'm not stupid, _Major_," he spat the word back at the man. "To you, this is a hostage scenario. Your orders are to negotiate the release of this man safely and then take me down, no questions asked."

Jacobson's expression shifted slightly, from a tense calm to a perturbed annoyance. "Major, please drop the weapon and let us take you into custody. We don't want to have to shoot you," he tried again, laying it all out on the table. At least he was being honest.

"Sorry, I can't do that. This man here," he burrowed the gun into Mulroney's neck, "Isn't quite telling you all the truth about his presence here." He directed his attention to the scientist. "Is he now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about or even _trying_ to imply, but you're dead wrong," Mulroney said, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. Like a rat in a cage.

And it wasn't long after that before Colonel Sheppard himself and Doctor McKay showed up, each taking position behind the armed marines. "Lorne!" McKay said gasping, his hand covering his mouth. "Jesus…"

John grimaced and took stock of the situation. "Lorne, please let the man go. We'll sort this all out, get Keller to take a look at you and figure out where to go from there." Defusing the situation was going to take a lot more than that, he predicted.

"You don't understand," Lorne tried again. "This man, he—" and that was when it hit him. The flashes and the drug had taken their toll and a wave of pain struck him hard and fast. He swayed on his feet and barely kept hold of Mulroney, leaning his weight against the smaller man to prevent himself from toppling over.

***_"Execute shut down?" Mulroney typing. Himself, speaking, "Drop the laptop."***_

"His laptop!" Lorne shouted as his vision swam. Mulroney was unable to hold him up any longer and he could feel more than see himself fall on top of the other man. "McKay! Check his laptop!" A wraith stunner struck him in the back after that. He could still hear, but he was in danger of passing out and suddenly arms were lifting him up and wrenching his arms behind his back. He felt the handcuffs lock his wrists together.

"Get him to the interrogation room," he heard Sheppard order. "And him, too."

"Me? Why me? I didn't do anything!" That was Mulroney.

"He didn't permanently harm anyone on his way here, Doctor. He did, however, seem to have a delightful propensity for hunting you down. We're keeping you under guard until we figure out what this is all about." His voice grew fainter as Lorne guessed Sheppard turned his head away from him. "Le Fleur, please hand that laptop over to Doctor McKay. Rodney, let me know what you find."

And then Lorne passed out.

* * *

He awoke sometime later, his head fuzzy and his thoughts even more muddled. He rolled to his side, the handcuffs still attached behind his back. His body lay on a cot and there was a table with an accompanying chair in the center of the room.

The door did its customary _swoosh_ and as his eyes began to adjust to the light he saw three men walk in followed by a familiar face.

"Hello, Evan," Doctor Keller said with a delicate sincerity to her voice. He had missed her. "How are you feeling?" The guards took position, two stunners trained on him, while the third guard stood behind his head.

"I'm…" he searched for the right word, but couldn't find it. "Not great," he finished lamely.

She nodded as if she understood his current condition. "Of course, I hear you've had a busy day." This was small talk, he decided. Fake small talk. The kind you used when you weren't sure you wanted to be having a conversation with someone so you stuck to basic and common phrases. _She's afraid of me._

He grunted in response, unable to form a coherent reply. Holding his head with his hands, he groaned. The drums were pounding away again and he couldn't get them to stop.

"Evan, I—" Keller began, but abruptly stopped. She glanced up at Lieutenant Georges. "He passed out, Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant nodded, but failed to move away. "Understood ma'am, but we have our orders. Can't risk him playing dead considering the stunt he pulled in the Gate Room. Take it slow."

She sighed, but nodded in resigned agreement. Pulling out a sterile needle and syringe as well as several empty vials, she set to work on drawing his blood.

She studied him as she worked, taking note of any changes that she could remember since his final check-up. If this really was Evan Lorne, she wanted to know what in God's name happened to him. An unidentifiable substance wound through his epidermal layer, fused together as if keeping his body in one piece. It wasn't too noticeable from far away, but up close there was a clear distinction between his skin and the silver that wormed its way through it.

A scar ran over his right eye, the healed wound reminiscent of a knife blade being drawn from forehead to cheek. His body itself had increased in size. _He must've put on at least thirty pounds of muscle…if not more._ She wanted to know everything about his last ten months. What diet was he on? What caused his wounds and the change in his appearance?

And then she wondered how she would treat him if he was injured. Was his blood affected? Would his body accept transfusions? Antibiotics? Was his memory in tact? His mental state? Did they have sufficient nutrition to maintain his weight so he wouldn't lose it too suddenly?

"What have you got yourself into…" she said, drawing varied looks from the marines stationed around her. When she was satisfied with the amount of samples, she stood. "Alright, we can leave now. I'm done here."

"Yes, ma'am," Georges replied, signaling his men to follow her out of the room.

"Well," Keller said, stealing a glance back into the room before the door closed behind her, "Let's find out who you really are."


End file.
